l me, if he finds me here."

"It was your father that caused it all!" cried Edith, with a vehement
change of feeling; "it was _he_ that betrayed us, _he_ that killed, oh!
killed my Roland! Go!--I hate you! Heaven will punish you for what you
have done; Heaven will never forgive the treachery and the murder--Go,
go! they will kill me, and then all will be well,--yes, all will be
well!"

But Telie, thus released, no longer sought to fly. She strove to obtain
and kiss the hand that repelled her, sobbing bitterly, and reiterating
her assurances that no harm was designed the maiden.

"No,--no harm! Do I not know it all?" exclaimed Edith, again giving
way to her fears, and grasping Telie's arm. "_You_ are not like your
father; if you betrayed me once, you will not betray me again. Stay with
me,--yes, stay with me, and I'll forgive you,--forgive you all. That
man--that dreadful man! I know him well: he will come--he has murdered my
cousin, and he is,--oh Heaven, how black a villain! Stay with me, Telie,
to protect me from that man; stay with me, and I'll forgive all you have
done."

It was with such wild entreaties Edith, agitated by an excitement that
seemed almost to have unsettled her brain, still urged Telie not to
abandon her; while Telie, repeating again and again her protestations
that no injury was designed or could happen, and that the old woman at
the fire was specially deputed to protect her, and would do so, begged to
be permitted to go, insisting, with every appearance of sincere alarm,
that her father would kill her if she remained,--that he had forbidden
her to come near the prisoner, which, nevertheless, she had secretly
done, and would do again, if she could this time avoid discovery.

But her protestations were of little avail in moving Edith to her
purpose; and it was only when the latter, worn out by suffering and
agitation, and sinking helpless on the couch at her feet, had no longer
the power to oppose her, that Telie hurriedly, yet with evident grief and
reluctance, tore herself away. She pressed the captive's hand to her
lips, bathed it in her tears, and then, with many a backward glance of
sorrow, stole from the lodge. Nathan crawled aside as she passed out, and
watching a moment until she had fled across the square, returned to his
place of observation. He looked again into the tent, and his heart smote
him with pity as he beheld the wretched Edith sitting in a stupor of
despair, her head sunk up